Blue Moon
by faeriesnook
Summary: They say when the moon is blue strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens linking our world with its own. America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this world. A world full of chaos and at the center of it a mystery they must solve.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**Blue Moon**  
Author:** Faeriesnook

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. Nor do I own the OC's of Scotland and Wales that appear within this story. They belong to loveanime18 (Scotland) and seatalia (Wales) respectively. They just allow me to borrow them for stories.**  
Rating:** T

**Notes:** This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

**Summary:** They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

-

They say on nights when the moon is blue that strange things occur. When he had been small, England had often been told by his siblings to stay close to the fae, especially when they were not together. When he had been that small, when he had still been referred to as Albion, he never understood why. As he grew though, he began to realize their fears. He had witnessed what occurred on those nights himself. The nights where a pathway to another world would open, linking his own world and this 'Wonderland'.

When he had been small, the blue moons had been common. But as he grew, as the world began to shun magic, the blue moon became rarer; to a point where even England began to forget about it. But some things could never be truly forgotten, or even vanish. And on this night, it would become far too clear…

It had started out as a relatively normal day. That is, until the ever boisterous America came barreling in through his front door without even bothering to knock, dragging is much more reserved brother behind him. Though, in all honesty, this was something the Brit had become incredibly use too. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that. But at least America had stopped nearly breaking his door down when he entered… And it was nice to see that he brought Canada with him. He had not seen the shyer of the brothers in a while. He had almost forgotten about him.

Still. Would it hurt America to knock, or perhaps phone ahead? It was common courtesy, honestly. Had he not raised him properly?

Well… Clearly England hadn't… If he had, America would never have rebelled…

Ah, but that was in the past. Why dwell on it? Well, at least at the moment… If he thought on that topic, England would only become depressed. And while that could be remedied by drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he did not want to do that in front of the two North American brothers. Nor did he want America to realize how easily the memory still affected him. No, no that bloody git would just hold it over England's head, mocking him for it. He wouldn't understand how that day had scarred the Englishman. And he did not care to explain it to America, especially as the young Nation would not understand. Canada would, Canada was always the smarter of the two. But America… America could never understand…

England wondered how he had become so use to these visits, why he even allowed them to occur. Why was it that England did not just kick the two (well, America) out from the get go? Why was he now, willingly, preparing a pot of tea for the two, knowing full well that America would simply demand coffee, stating how much he hated tea? England just sighed, carrying the tray into the sitting room, scowling at the American.

"Feet off my furniture," he snapped, raising his foot and lightly kicking America's leg. There was a small yelp, more of surprise then anything, America dropping his legs off the table top. The sandy blonde stared distastefully at his wooden table top, noting the marks of the others shoes had left behind. He could feel his eye twitch, ever so slightly as he turned his attention to the path leading from the front door to the sitting room. "America… You tracked mud into my home…"

"I did?"

"Yes. You did."

"Ah, my bad Iggy!" His eye twitched more. How many times had he told the American he detested that nickname? It was cute when America had been a small colony. But now… And that infuriating grin. He didn't even care that he had possibly ruined the Brit's carpet, or at least left him to have to clean it all up. By himself no less. Because there was no way that America would help him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the quieter of the brothers shifting in his seat, before setting Kumajiro down and rising. England immediately raised his hand, frowning.

"Ah bu-but-"

"I'll clean it, Canada."

"But…"

"Sit down and relax," he stated, balancing the tray in one hand and fishing his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping the dirt away. Scowling more, he set the tray down on his now somewhat clean table top (he would clean it properly later).

"Don't'cha have any coffee?" Came the obnoxious voice as England began to pour the tea for himself and his two uninvited (well one, Canada was always welcomed) guests. He could feel his eyebrow twitch again, but again ignored the comment, holding out one of the cups to Canada. The Northern brother accepted it, thanking England who merely smiled in response. When he offered the other saucer to America, only to be met with a small, irritated expression. "I'll um, pass…"

"It's rude to decline something your hosts prepared."

"Yeah, and its rude not to ask your guest what they want to drink."

"And it's even ruder to come bursting into someone's home uninvited, and then acting like an ungrateful twit!"

"Hey! I knocked this time!" America shouted, pouting almost like a child. And England had to resist reaching out and smacking the American across the head. With a pointed look from Canada though, the other silenced, taking the saucer and cup from England. "You have sugar?"

"Of course," rolling emerald eyes he handed the bowl of sugar to the American, pointedly turning his attention to Canada so that he would not need to watch America pour the entire bowl into his cup of perfectly good tea. "So how have you been Canada?"

"Good," the Canadian murmured, and England smiled watching him pour a little bit of his tea into his saucer for the white bear. If it had been anyone else, England would have yelled, he would have become upset and flustered. However, he would let it pass this time. Especially seeing him give England an apologetic smile. He hid his small, fond smile behind his cup, continuing to speak.

"That's good. I take it you have been busy?" Canada nodded, scratching Kumajiro's ears affectionately, before leaving his bear to lap at the tea.

"Yes, I've had a lot paper work," he smiled sheepishly; ducking his head after had taken a sip of his tea. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to call lately…"

"It's perfectly alright. At least you're doing your work." He glanced at America, who blinked, before frowning childishly.

"Hey! I do my work!"

"Oh yes, and yet you still have more than enough time to bother me, play your silly video games, and babble on and on about being a hero."

"I am a hero!"

"Oh yes, I'm sure. Would you like anything to eat Canada?"

"Oh um…"

"Heh, I think I can vouch for Canada and say no. I don't think he feels like getting food poisoning." That remark, companied by that smirk, made him bristle all over like a cat.

"Excuse me!? There is nothing wrong with my cooking!"

"Yeah, except your scones are always so rock hard, and last time you made me something for dinner I got sick as Hell."

"Eh, America… You were already sick…"

"Nah, I was completely healthy until I had Iggy's horrible cooking!"

"But you had called me the day before-"

"Just tell him you aren't hungry bro. I mean, it's not like Iggy can _cook_. Even his-"

"America." Another pointed look, and America ceased speaking. England couldn't help but raise a bushy eyebrow, a bit curious by the display. He was well aware of the fact that there were times when Canada could silence his brother, but the suddenness, and America's constant shifting, led him to observe the two curiously. Setting his cup down he frowned, eyeing the two.

"So what brought about this unexpected visit?"

"Wh-What!? Ah! No reason!" America was laughing nervously now, England crossed his arms over his chest.

"America." He smirked seeing the other flinch.

"Oh geeze… When you say my name like that it _still_ sounds like you're about to whack me with some branch…"

"It always worked when you were a colony," he murmured with a shrug, picking up his tea again. "It always led you to tell the truth. So, tell the truth now. What are you both doing here?"

"America, just say it." He heard Canada murmur, nudging his brother with his elbow.

"I, um well… See…"

"Hmm?" His scowl returned England releasing an exasperated sigh. "Oh just spit it out America!"

And it was just when America opened his mouth, the phone rang. Grumbling England once again set his cup down, rising to his feet. "Don't. Touch. Anything. America."

"Oh like you have anything cool to touch." That nervousness had evaporated, and that irritatingly cocky grin had returned, before fading into irritation. "Wait a minute! Why are you singling me out!?"

England choose not to respond, rolling his eyes as he retreated back into his kitchen to retrieve the telephone, murmuring a soft 'I'm coming, I'm bloody coming' to himself before picking it up.

"'Ello, Kirkland residence."

_ "England."_ It took him a moment to register the voice, again, his eyebrow raising.

"Norway?" It was strange to hear from the other Nation, generally the two wrote letters back and forth. They only called if… "What's wrong?"

_ "Have you looked outside?"_

"What do you mean?" He frowned, eyebrows knitting together.

"Ah geeze Iggy, you have such borin' books!"

"Oi! What did I say about touching anything you git!" He shouted, pressing a hand against the receiver for a moment, stepping more so into the kitchen; and making a quick beeline for the window. "What do you mean 'have I looked outside'?"

He pulled the curtains back, his eyes widening. "When… When did it get so bloody dark..?"

_ "A half hour or so, at least for me," _came the simple retort, and he could hear Norway shifting on the other line. Hear him saying something in his own native tongue, before speaking again. _"England, look at the moon."_

He was about to refute that the moon would not be out. It was only four o'clock last he looked at his clock. And that had only been a minute or so after the North American brothers had arrived. And they had only been here for about an hour. Not nearly long enough for the sun to set and the moon to rise. But then again, it was already pitch black out. Like evening had already fallen. How did he miss this? Frowning more deeply he drew the curtain back more, peeking out the window.

His mouth fell open, the phone nearly slipping from his hands. In the distance, he heard the two brothers speaking. Outside it was evening, but there were no stars twinkling in the sky. And the moon… The moon was…

"Its blue…"

_"I was not sure if you had become aware of it,"_ came the ever-aloof Norwegian's voice, though England could hear the hint of concern, of worry. _"I've already taken precautions for myself and the other Nordic Nations."_

"And Sealand..?"

_"Along with Latvia, as he's staying the night."_ If he didn't know any better, he was sure he heard a chuckle, whispering something in Norwegian, before continuing on in English._ "I have already spoken to the trolls; they are going to stay especially close to those two. You best speak with your fae's…"_

"I will thank you for telling me this Norway…"

_"You would have done the same."_ He responded, and there was shouting in the back ground, Denmark's voice. Norway responded by shouting something and from what England could translate, he could not help but snicker. _"Ah, I have to go. I will call in the morning."_

"Take care Norway. Thank you." The other said a soft good bye, and a click signaled the other hanging up. England hesitated, holding the phone to his chest before peeking back in to his former charges. America was sorting through one of England's bookshelves, making off handed comments to Canada about how boring the books were. His brother in turn was rolling his eyes. They both seemed alright, they would be alright.

Reentering the kitchen, he dialed the number he knew by heart, shifting uneasily as he awaited the other line to pick up. It would all be alright. They were sure to have noticed the moon, they had to. They were fine…

_"What do you want you rossie."_

He had never been so realized to hear Ireland's annoyed voice. "I'm sure you've noticed the moon."

_"The moon? What about… Oi you drunk Scot, get your arse up!"_ He blinked, cocking his head to one side.

"Blaine's over?"

_"Yes. Along with Wales and the lil Snapper. Hope you don't mind, us not invitin' you to our little shin-dig- Scotland I swear to God Almighty if you- I will blood kick your arse you caffler! I swear it!"_ There was a pause, England hearing a slurred response before his sister sucked in a sharp breath. He could almost see her tensing, her lips tightening into a thin line. _"What did you say yo-you! I'm going to bloody!"_

There was a thud, and England thought for a moment that they had been disconnected. But then a soft voice spoke up. _"England? Is everything alright?"_

"Wales," he sighed, a bit grateful to have at least the saner member of the house hold on the phone. "What are those gits doing?'

_"Fighting. Scotland made a rather rude remark about Ireland's um well… Bust…"_

"You cover the boy's ears?"

_"Mmhmm, lil North didn't hear a thing."_

"He's egging them on isn't he?"

_"Cheering for his Mamai, as usual."_ Wales giggled, but then he could hear the frown form. _"Brawd, is everything alright?"_

"The moon is blue." He heard his sister gasp, his stomach sinking slightly. "You all hadn't noticed?"

_"Ir-Ireland and Scotland were playing a drinking game. We hadn't… Oh no…"_ She began shouting at the other two, and while England could not follow the stream of Welsh she released (he never could when she began to speak so rapidly), he knew what she was telling them.

"England, are you _done_ yet? I'm hungry."

"I thought you didn't want my cooking to poison you, you bloody wanker!" He snapped, turning his head to look at America. He was pouting, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah… Well, I figured once you were done I could make us all something to eat."

"Oh like I'm going to let you in my kitchen to make your bloody hamburgers. Just go back in the sitting room. I'll be in in a moment!"

"But-"

"Go!" His tone dropped dangerously, and he could see the surprise on the others face, but thankfully America complied. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the phone call; hearing now surprised Gaelic in his ear. Wait, wait, it wasn't… Was she… "Ireland, Ireland sl-slow down! I can't understand you when you speak so quickly!"

_"What do you mean the moon is blue!?"_

"Look for yourself." He grumbled, hearing the others whispering amongst themselves, before Ireland took a quick breath, whispering again in Gaelic. There was a shifting sound, Scotland's voice becoming clearer.

_"Have your fae friends stay nearby."_ He instructed, and England had half the mind to remind him that he was no longer a child, and he knew full well what would occur. He had experienced it himself after all, the last time the moon had turned this blue. _"England, you the only one home?"_

"Unfortunately no. America and Canada turned up for a visit."

_"Then make sure some of the fae watch over those two. Last thing we want is a superpower and his brother to go missin'."_  
England snorted, leaning against the wall. "Ah, but meetings would be so much more productive…"

_"England."_

"I'm kidding Scotland, I'm kidding! And I will." He thought for a moment, chewing his lower lip. "Should I… Do you think my former colonies will be at risk as well?"

_"Think they'll be okay,"_ the Scot murmured, before saying something England could not hear. There were soft responses, the two other female Nations no doubt. And England could only shift more and more uneasily. He didn't want to draw his former colonies into this mess. He knew that they would most likely be safe. The blue moon would only affect those of magical origins. Nations that could still see the fae, and mythical creatures of that like. And there were not many more Nations that could still see them. England, his siblings, and Norway were some of the few. But just being in the vicinity of one of the magical Nations could be risky on a night of a blue moon. Had England known that one would appear tonight, he would have sent the North American brother's away without a second thought.

_"I'll send some of my friends to keep an eye on them, along with some of yours if it'd put your mind at ease,"_ came Ireland's soft voice, before a briskness overcame it. _"But I'm not doing this for you. I just don't want any poor Nations to well, y'know, just because they had the misfortune of being associated with you. It's not for you, really."_

"Whatever you say Ireland… But it would put my mind at ease." He was already calling some of his friends to him, asking in the soft bell language they used to check on former colonies. They were hesitant, naturally, not wanting to leave him, but he knew he would be safe. Even if one or two remained. "I've asked some of mine already. But the more the better."

_"England, you should have all the faes you can with you!"_ Came Wales's worried voice. _"Especially after last-"_

"Yes, but I know about the blue moon, and what to expect. My former colonies do not. They are the ones that need the protection."

_"Want one of us to come over just in case?"_

"I'm fine Scotland, again I just called…"

_"Eh? England? Oi you brat, you still there!?"_

America… America had stopped complaining. In fact, England hadn't heard a peep out of the young Nation for a good while. And that was just… Unusual. He had been complaining so loudly. But now…

_"England!?"_

His limbs felt suddenly heavy as he crept back into the sitting room, his heart pounding against his chest.

"America? Canada? Are you boys alright?" He ventured, rounding the corner. He caught sight of the two, slumped against his book shelf, sound asleep…

But America had been so full of energy. And why was Kumajiro nudging at Canada's arm in such a worried manner. England felt his heart leap into his throat. He didn't even realize he had dropped the phone until he had fallen to his knees in front of the two, gripping America by the shoulders and shaking him. "America! America! Wake up! Wake up this instance! Ca-Canada! Canada wake up! Both of you! Th-This isn't!"

His whole body was shaking. He could hear the laughter, his head whipping around to one of the sitting room windows. It had blown open, the blue moonlight spilling into the room, casting an eerie glow over the two seemingly slumbering Nations. His entire body felt numb, his hands slipping from America's shoulders, landing in his lap. Distantly he could hear his siblings shouting over the phone, he could hear his friends fluttering around him whispering worriedly to one another, to something else. But England couldn't register their words. His eyes were fixed on the two still figures, his heart lodged in his throat.

No… No. This couldn't. They couldn't…

"Give them back," he whispered, and he was sure he heard the laughter double. England whipped around again, staring up at the blue moon. Screaming to something that not even he could see. "Give them back! GIVE THEM BACK!"

He continued screaming, pounding at the floorboards, hot tears streaming down his face. He should have acted sooner. He was foolish. The faes, he should have asked them to watch the two the moment he saw the moon while he spoke on the phone. The moment he realized… They were the ones most at risk. They…

"Gi-Give them back," he whispered, doubling over, pressing his forehead against the floorboards. "Please… Give them back…"

But there was only laughter as a response.

-

_And so, the little rabbits fell down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland…_

-

**Rossie –Brat**

**Snapper – Child**

**Caffler – Asshole**

**Maimai – ****Irish Gaelic name for mother that children would use. Pronounced Mah-mee.**

**Brawd – Welsh for Brother**

**-**

**Ah~ This was my attempt at NaNoWriMo 2009. Sadly, I did not succeed, as more important things such as school got in the way orz; This entire story is plotted out however, save a few parts. And I can promise already. It's going to be LONG.**

**But I hope you have all enjoyed the first chapter! And please, please, please feel free to drop a comment, saying what you liked, disliked, what sucked, what was good. I'm aspiring to be an author one day, so I'll never get any good if I don't get feedback/critiques.**

**Oh, and this was un-beta'd, solely because I felt like a pest already asking friends how they liked it… So any grammatical errors I apologize for. I most likely missed them on the final read through….**

**But right! I hope you enjoyed this! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:**Blue Moon**  
Author:** Faeriesnook

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. Nor do I own the OC's of Scotland and Wales that appear within this story. They belong to loveanime18 (Scotland) and seatalia (Wales) respectively. They just allow me to borrow them for stories.**  
Rating:** T

**Notes:** This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

**Summary:** They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

-

His head had never hurt so much in his entire life. That was the first, coherent thought that came to America's throbbing mind. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hesitant to open them. Had he hit his head? He couldn't remember doing so, but then again, if he had there was a good chance he had forgotten the action. But he had been doing nothing that would have lead for him to hit his head. All he had been doing, to his recollection, was talking to Canada while looking through some of England's boring books… Yeah, that had been all. He and his brother had just…

Canada!

Any hesitation was forgotten. Blue eyes shot wide open as he sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain and dizziness that accompanied the action. He looked around wildly, spotting his brother lying a few feet away, face down in the dirt. For a moment he had to stare at their surroundings, confused as to why they were no longer standing in England's stuff sitting room, but the panic for his brother won over those thoughts. America rushing to the others side, his heart beating rapidly against his chest, trembling hands shaking his brother. He could worry about that later, after he knew his brother was safe. "Canada! Canada, wake up!"

"Amer…ica?" Violet eyes opened groggily, and America could feel relief wash through his entire body. He nodded simply leaning back as his brother sat up. The Canadian rubbed his head, looking around their surroundings, his eyes going wide. "… Wh-Where are we!?"

The American was about to respond, taking in their surroundings properly. And soon, his face mirrored his brothers in surprise.

They were no longer in the Brit's sitting room, standing besides the boring book shelf waiting for him to finish with some phone call (though America had vaguely realized that upon waking). No, they were in a dark, wooded area; the trees twisting together, looking like something taken out of a nightmare. And on impulse, the American's hand flew out to grip his brother's arms, scenes from horror movies replaying themselves in his mind. As if sensing it, his brother raised his other hand, taking America's in his own and running his thumb along the back of it whispering a few soothing words. It helped a little, but only a little. And America could just feel his breath hitch as the trees shifted with an unfelt breeze, or maybe it had been one of the forests inhabitants. One of the forests scary inhabitants. Ones that would no doubt leap out and-

"America, we aren't in a scary movie."

"It _looks_ like one!"

"But we aren't," the other reasoned, and America swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding. "We're here together, nothing bad'll happen."

Again he nodded, mildly noting how pathetic he was acting. Honestly, how could he allow himself, the hero, to be so easily frightened!?

"You watched a scary movie before I came over today, didn't you?"

"Last night…" He admitted, hanging his head slightly. "It was um, a horror movie marathon on TV so I watched it all…"

"America."

"I-I can't help it and you know it!" A twig snapped, and America jumped a good foot, nearly falling into Canada's lap. His brother just laughed, shaking his head.

"Oh honestly, I thought heroes never got scared."

"Even heroes have a weakness!" He snapped, glowering at his grinning brother. But at least it was Canada with him, and not someone else. Only Canada could see this side of him. This side that openly admitted heroes had a weakness. And one of the few who could see him so easily frightened. Anyone else would just make fun of him; Canada was the only one who never did.

"Right, so horror movies are your kryptonite?" America glowered more, and Canada shook his head with that amused smile. But that smile died as he looked around again, cocking his head to one side. "Putting all that aside… Just where are we? Weren't we in England's..?"

"Yeah," America murmured, glancing around again. "I remember feeling like I got hit with somethin'… But that was it."

"Same," his brother responded, rising to his feet and looking around. "But then how are we here, eh…"

"I bet'cha its one of England's jokes." He scowled, rising as well and crossing his arms over his chest. "That's gotta be it. Iggy decided to pull a joke on us."

"I thought you didn't believe in magic."

"I don't! I didn't _say_ he used magic…"

"Then how do you think we got out here?" The Canadian turned to face America, a frown on his lips. "How do you think England managed to knock both of us out?"

"He might've drugged our tea!"

"You didn't take a sip," his brother pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "You just poured the entire bowl of sugar in it, set it down, and went to look at his books and complain about how bored you were."

"… I was gonna drink it." A pointed look. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Okay… Okay… I get it. England couldn't've done this… But then who else?"

Was England alright? Had something happened to him as well? A worried knot formed as he looked around, wishing that the older Nation was lying a few feet away from where the two stood; unconscious but safe and with them. Heck, he was even praying to hear the Brit's annoyed remarks as he came too, blaming it all on America. But he didn't see a head of sandy blonde hair, nor did he hear the familiar accent. And that knot he would not admit was present out loud, knotted tighter.

"I don't like the look of this bro…"

"Neither do I," he could see Canada raising his arms from the corner of his eye, wrapping around his chest as if Kumajiro was in his arms. Another twig snapped, and this time, America's hand flew to his side, to where his gun holster was hidden by his jacket. He drew the firearm without hesitation, aiming towards where the sound came from. He felt Canada shift closer, and in a matter of moments they were back to back. "You have to bring a gun with you everywhere, don't you?"

"Hey, its times like these where it comes in handy!" He glanced over his shoulder, seeing his brother shake his head in exasperation. America grinned more.

"Five seconds ago you were shaking like a baby," his brother chuckled, and the jab with done with affection; though that didn't stop America from pouting, just slightly.

"Aw, c'mon, I wasn't _that_ scared!" Another snap and that brought their nervous chatter to a halt.

"You have another gun on you?" He shook his head, looking around. There was a giggle; America turning his head turned one side so quickly he cringed.

"Whose there!?" The giggle turned into laughter. And a shiver went down both their spines simultaneously. The chilling laughter echoing throughout the dark wooded area; and America was positive this laugh could rival even Russia's. Something he had always thought to be impossible. His eyes darted around, attempting to find the person the laugh belonged too, but it echoed all around them, ricocheting off the gnarled trees, going in every direction imaginable. Blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, the American gripping the firearm tighter. "Come out!"

_"And so,"_ came an airy voice, a sense of familiarity registering in the back of America's mind. But he didn't know what it was. He had never heard this voice before… But where? _"The little rabbits fell down the hole."_

"Who are you?" Canada's soft voice drew his attention. Glancing back at his brother, before allowing his blue eyes to dart around the woods once again. Why hadn't he just brought two pistols with him? Sure it would have been Hell to get through security on the way there, but it would be worth it now. He was never leaving the house without two guns again. It was official.

"It'll be okay Canada," he whispered back. "I won't let anythin' happen to you."

"Likewise," came the whispered response. And had it been any other time, had it been a better situation, America would have retorted back, bantering a bit longer with his brother. But now was not the time, even the American was aware of that. He glanced around again, straining his ears to hear where the speaker was located.

_"Down and down they fell,"_ came another giggle. _"Into this Wonderland, away from the lion, their protector."_

Where was it coming from?

_"The blue-eyed one, ever the bold brother, and the violet-eyed one, ever the reserved." _The voice cooed, America whipping his head to one side. But there was nothing there. _"Always the more thoughtful one, always thinking, that is the violet-eyed one. But the blue-eyed bunny. Oh how rash he is! Waving that silly weapon around."_ There was another chilling giggling, a chord of insanity shining through it. _"But I know something you don't know, little rabbits~"_

"And what's that!?" America barked, his eyes still darting around. Where the Hell could this person be hiding!? That giggle sounded again, and before he could register it, cold fingers had wrapped around his wrist.

_ "Your toys don't work in my Wonderland."_ He was flung to the side, a small yelp escaping him. Without meaning too, he let go of the firearm, his back slamming into one of the warped trees, the bark cracking as the American felt the wind knocked from his body. Canada screamed out to him, America barely having time to recover before choking, a foot becoming firmly planted against his windpipe. He struggled, gripping at the persons ankles as more pressure was added. Within moments, black spots had begun dotting his vision, blue eyes widening, staring up at the attacker. The figure was staring down at him, a hood pulled over their head, an ornate mask covering the upper part of their face. He could hear his brother shouting to him in the background, the American half wondering why his brother had not come to help him. But that question was at the very back of his hazy mind. The man was leaning down now, tilting his head to one side and staring at the young Nation in pure fascination. And another shudder went down his spine. This man's eyes were wide, crazed, staring out from beneath the mask unblinkingly. The masked man leaned closer, and the foot was removed. Coughing, America spluttered as he tried to gulp down as much air as he could, before the man threaded rough fingers into blond locks, yanking the American to his feet by his hair. He gripped the masked man's wrist, trying to break away, but he couldn't.

But that made no sense. America practically had super strength!

The masked man continued to stare at him with pure fascination, running his hand along the American's cheek. He looked about to say something, those crazed eyes so wide. But soon, soon his entire expression darkened.

"America!" Canada was fighting against something; he realized when he looked towards his brother. Another cloaked figure was holding him, the Canadian struggling to break away. America tried to speak, one hand rising to hold his right cheek, blood oozing between his fingers. The first man, the masked man, laughed again, rolling his head back to look at the cloaked figure holding his brother. _"They're so silly, don't you think poppet? Such silly rabbits."_

"Who are you?" His brother hissed, at the masked man turned his attention on him. He tilted his head, to one side.

"Stay away from him!" America hissed, but the masked man ignored him, walking towards his brother and the newcomer. He tilted his head more so, gazing at Canada.

_ "Both of you… You're faces…" _Canada cried out, America rushing to his feet and knocking the two men away. The cloaked figure automatically let go of Canada, catching the masked man as he stumbled back. America glared, glancing at his brother. Blood ran down his left cheek, mirroring the blood that coated his own right. There was a wordless exchange, Canada nodding and America releasing a small sigh of relief. They were both okay so far…

His attention returned to the masked man as another chilling laugh echoed around them. He was leaning against the cloaked figure, a twisted smile on his face as he raised his hand, smearing a mix of America's and Canada's blood across the others face. _"See? They're so silly, don't you think? The both of them. Heh, I plucked them right out from under the lions paw! That'll rile him up, don't you think so, poppet? Teach him a lesson, don't you think?"_

The figure just turned their head in response, and America blanched as he saw whoever was beneath the cloak lick the blood off the masked man's fingers, before kissing his palm. The giggle sounded again, rippling in the air, but it died the moment he saw the brothers, that dark look crossing his features again. _"But I can't stand the sight of either of them… Especially the blue-eyed one." _

He leaned forward, kissing the underside of the cloaked figures jaw. _"Kill them for me? Won't you poppet?"_

The only response was a stiff nod. America reacted first, the moment his eyes caught sight of the glint of metal. He grabbed his brother's hand, breaking into a run and dragging him along. There was no way they could fight right now. Running was their only option, as much as America hated that fact.

That laughter echoed behind them, around them. _"Ahaha, trying to run~ Think you can escape little doppelgangers?"_

He did not even need to look over his shoulder to know that they were being pursued. The cloaked figure was following them, and he didn't dare slow his pace at all. Not even when Canada stumbled, though he was quick to regain his balance. In a few more strides they were running side-by-side, America still never releasing his grip on his brother's hand. It was then, and only then, that he spared a chance to look back.

"America!" His brother's shriek was the only thing he needed. He turned his head forward again, just in time to duck a blade.

"How the _fuck_ did he get ahead of us!?" He shouted, taking a step or two back, blue eyes wide.

"Like I know!" Canada was pulling him now, in another direction. America glanced back again, heart pounding in his chest. This was just like the horror movies. _Exactly_ like them. The man had only paused, but the American didn't need to see under the hood to know that he was staring after them. Gulping down a breath, he willed his heart to slow down, squeezing his brother's hand.

_"We have to split up,"_ he shouted, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he saw his brother do a double take. After all, it wasn't very often these days that America would slip into one of his Native tribe's languages. But he had a good feeling that their pursuers wouldn't be able to understand them this way. _"I'll lead the guy away. You get someplace safe."_

_ "No,"_ the Canadian snapped, gripping his brothers hand even tighter. _"We are __not__ separating. You are __not__ going to go and play hero and lead that guy away!"_

_"We have no other options,"_ he replied calming, the two finally slowing to a stop, right in front of a fork in the dilapidated road. America eyed the two pathways, before looking at his brother. _"We need to get out of this alive. I'm faster. I can out run him."_

_ "Brother…"_

_ "I'll be fine."_

_ "How will we find one another after all this is done?"_

_ "We just will."_ He grinned, squeezing his brother's hand. Canada gave him a skeptical look. America just continued grinning, taking the hand he held, placing it over his beating chest, before placing his own hand against the Canadians. There were no words spoken for a moment, violet eyes staring at the ground. _"We can always find each other, brother. We always have been able too. So please."_

Their connection, their bond, would lead them back to one another. America was sure of it.

_"Brother…"_ There was a rustling, both brothers lowering their hands. America glanced at the sound, before pushing his brother towards the left path.

"GO!"

The Canadian hesitated for another moment, before nodding. He watched his brother run, Canada glancing over his shoulder. "If you get hurt, I-I swear to God!"

"I'll be alright!" America shouted after him, grinning still. "I'm a hero remember!?"

Even though he couldn't hear him, he knew his brother had to have mumbled something under his breath at the remark. America smiled just a little, before turning around. Their pursuer had caught up to them, America taking a deep breath. He had to buy time for Canada to at least get a good distance away. "Hey, still tryin' to catch me?"

The response was for the cloaked figure to rush forward. The Nation dove to one side, the sword slicing through his shirt. Rolling back to his feet, he glanced down, a scowl on his face. "Hey! That was my favorite t-shirt!"

The figure charged again, and this time America took off down the right path. He risked looking back, smiling inwardly upon seeing that the figure was pursuing him. Canada would be safe. Good. That was good. He looked ahead, leaping over fallen rocks. Now all he needed to do was lose the cloaked figure and he could go and find Canada, and then-

A small scream, more as a result of surprise, escaped him as fingers suddenly snatched him by the hair. He was yanked to a stop; America's hands flying back to grip the person's wrists, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. _"Did you think you could out run us little rabbit?"_

It was the masked man, an insane smile stretching across his face. One that rivaled, or even surpassed, Russia's (this guy just seemed to give the Russian a run for his money). America struggled against his hold, but the masked man held him with ease, 'tut'-ing in such an admonishing manner. The cloak figure approached them, the sword by their side. America struggled even more, glaring sharply at his two attackers. The masked man just chuckled again, trailing his free hand down the American's already bloody cheek. _"This is my home. My domain. My personal Wonderland. You're so foolish little rabbit!"_

He could not fight down the pained gasp, blue eyes widening as the man trailed his fingers through the cuts. The American could feel more tears form at the corners of his eyes, the masked man dragging his fingers through the cuts more, making them longer, wider, deeper. That dark look was back. _"Your face… Too much like… I can't stand it…"_ He cocked his head to one side, before rolling his head back to look at the cloaked figure. _"What do you think, poppet?"_

But the cloaked figure said nothing, earning a small, childish almost pout. _"Oh I wish you would speak once and a while. Like you use too…"_

He looked back at the still struggling America, his face lighting up beneath that mask. As if a light bulb had gone off. That twisted smile remained as he leaned forward, dragging his tongue along his bloody cheek right to his ear. America fought down a cry, shuddering as hot breath brushed against his ear. _"I'm going to tear your face off, little doppelganger, piece by piece."_

He paused, lips against the shell of his ear. America struggled harder, clawing at the man's wrist in sheer desperation. Something he hated to admit. But a harsh tug forced a cry of pain that he could not keep. That voice cooing against his ear. _"Would you like that poppet? Hmm? Shall I get rid of the little doppelgangers face?"_

The fingers were trailing down his cheeks again. America's breath hitched. He could feel nails slicing into his cheek, starting at the corner of his right eye, trailing down to the lip of his jaw. He gritted his teeth, feeling the nails start another row. He fought down any pained cries; he would not give this enemy that satisfaction. He couldn't. _"Oh the silly rabbit. Mm, the lion will be so sad."_

But the man sounded gleeful, leaning down again. America fought down another cry as the tongue trailed against the cuts. _"Poor little blue-eyed rabbit."_

"Why are you doing this!?"

_"Hmm?"_ He paused, cocking his head to one side, before giggling. _"The lion began this! He interfered when he shouldn't have~"_

He leaned back, rolling his head to the side before reaching those bloody fingers out. _"And, I just can't stand look at your face."_

The cloaked figure approached them, and America could finally get a look beneath the shadowed hood. There was another mask on the figures face, no, it was a man. He wore a mask, though simpler then the psycho holding onto his hair. The Nation could make out none of the figures features, only that there was still blood coating the side of his face. The masked man giggled again, reaching those bloody fingers out, smearing even more blood against the others face. The cloaked man's expression never changing. _"Isn't it annoying poppet?"_

But there was no other response besides the dull eyes peering at him from behind the mask. America glared sharply at them both, urging his limbs to work again. Fingers released his hair, shoving the young Nation forward. The masked man was looking at him with disgust, glancing at the cloaked figure. _"Kill him."_

The cloaked figure stepped forward, his sword already drawn. He could feel his mind race, eyes darting from side to side.

He rolled out of the way, to the side as the sword came down. Biting back a cry of pain as his bloodied cheek connected with the dirt. Shoving himself to his feet, he stumbled away from the two, earning another one of those chilling giggles. _"Oh? Little bunny still has some fight left in him!"_ The giggle faded, a sharp tone overtaking the voice. _"Doesn't he realize he can't get away?"_

The blonde took another step back, but within a blink of an eye the masked man was in front of him. _"I'm done playing little rabbit."_

Scrambling back, he felt his heart once again lodge itself in his throat. Blue eyes darkened around again, America unable to fight down a small tremble. The cloaked man was approaching him, the masked man on the other side. He was trapped. _"Stay still you filthy doppelganger."_

Like Hell he would stay still! America darted in another direction, dodging a swipe of the sword. He kept running, avoiding the sounds of the two pursuers. He had promised Canada he would be alright, and he had already broken part of that promise. The wind stung at the cuts, but America ignored it. He ran faster and faster, stumbling over his own feet. He had to get out of here alive. He had to meet up with his brother. They had to find a way back to England's. Yeah, that was right. England was probably freaking out. And America was starving. What he wouldn't give for some of the Brit's cooking right about now…

Something leapt out at him, a small surprised yelp escaping him. The blond tumbled, before hitting the ground. Dirt again bit into his bloodied cheek, small tears trickling down the sides of his face. He scrambled, but something was holding onto him. He spun his head around, eyes wide. The shadows. The actual _shadows_ from the forest, from the trees, had stretched out and caught him! They looked like hands, and it led America to fight down a small, unheroic, scream of terror. He flailed instead, thrashing his limbs as more shadows stretched out, inky black tendrils wrapping around him. He could hear that laugh echoing around them, and the laughter was getting close. This wasn't good. This wasn't-

A sudden light blinded him. America forgot about the shadows momentarily, arms shielding his eyes from the light. The shadows, he could hear them shriek, releasing his limbs. The light died down, America slowly sitting up, dropping his arms to his sides.

A little boy was in front of him, a green cloak pulled around his body. He was holding out his hands, a sphere of light hovering over them. The American tried to speak, blue eyes wide. The little boy… It couldn't be… But there was no mistaking it…

"En-England?"

The boy said nothing, holding the sphere to America. Slowly he extended his hands, cupping his larger hands beneath the little boys. It couldn't be England… England wasn't so tiny. But then, just who was it? Why did he _look_ like England? He didn't understand…

_"You do not belong here,"_ whispered the young voice. _"Take this, it will protect you."_

The light was fading, and something solid landed in his hands as the little boy, little 'England', dropped it. He squinted, trying to see what it was, but the darkness of the forests had returned. He looked back at the little boy; he had paused, looking over his shoulder, before back at America. _"Run, you must get out of these woods!"_

"Wh-Who are you!? You aren't… You aren't England, right?" The little boy shook his head, America clenching the trinket in his hands. "Who are you then!?"

_"I am your England, and yet I am not."_ The little boy responded, stepping away. _"Now is not the time though. You must run, America. You must escape."_

"Why… Why are you helping me?"

_"It was his wish,"_ the little 'England' replied, smiling before her turned, taking off down the path, the way America had come. The way those men were... America sat there for a moment longer, staring after him. Not quite registering what had just happened. But then it hit him, and the urgent tone became apparent as the boy's words replayed themselves over and over again. Stumbling back to his feet, he shoved the gift into his pocket, and taking off down the path, praying it would lead to an exit.

-

**Welcome to chapter two of Blue Moon, and the introduction of the main villain, so to speak. His dialogue was a lot of fun to write~**

**I am not sure what to say here… As it is 5:30 am, and I really should be asleep… But I'm not.**

**So instead, I am just going to say, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. And again, feel free to leave a comment x3 I'm very happy to know people enjoyed the first chapter so much!**

**Right. Sleeping now~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:**Blue Moon**  
Author:** Faeriesnook

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. **  
Rating:** T

**Notes:** This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

**Summary:** They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

-

The forest never changed. It looked the same, despite how long he ran. And he had been running for what felt like an eternity. His lungs burned, but America dared not stop. That urgency in the little boy's (England's, but at the same time not England's) voice drove him forward. He had to escape the forest, but it seemed as if it was never going to end! How could he escape something that seemed to be on permanent repeat?

Was Canada alright? Had he escaped safely? No, no of course he did! Canada was smart. He would've found the way out. He wouldn't have gotten caught by those two men. America had bought him more than enough time!

And what about the little boy? He had run right in the direction they were in before America could stop him, or even say a word. Was he alright? He wasn't England, America was very sure of this. But then who was he? What had he meant by _"I am your England, and yet I am not."_? And most importantly, why had he helped? And that trinket…

Shaking his head, he focused on the pass ahead. He could figure all that out when he was safe. Right now…

Wait…

Wait, what was that? He slowed, nearly toppling over. His legs felt like Jell-o, but he had to keep going. So he forced them to continue walking, blue eyes looking around. Music? Yes, he was hearing music! He was sure of it! But how? That made no sense. Where was it coming from? Did this mean he was almost out of the woods? He pushed his burning limbs harder, taking off into another run. His chest was burning, and his legs were so wobbly. But, but he was almost out. He could hear the music, it was growing louder, and he could hear voices. He was almost out of the woods! He was almost-

He tripped. Squawking he stumbled forward, falling head first into some bushes, hitting the ground and then rolling out of them. His head spun, the music had stopped. Had it just been his imagination?

"Oh my God! Are you okay!?" Blue eyes snapped open. He knew that voice anywhere!

"Hu-Hungary?"

"Hungry? Of course, you poor boy, it looks like you've run the whole way. And your cheek! What happened!?"

"Elizaveta, give him room to breathe," another familiar voice; that same tone of disdain, with hidden amusement. America's head was spinning, he could feel arms taking hold of his, helping him walk, before sitting in a chair. He looked around, the world skewed. But he recognized the couple in front of him. It was Hungary, knelt in front of his chair, dressed in a beautiful red gown. And Austria, that was who was hovering behind her, dressed in the finest silk. It was them, but, but why didn't they seem to recognize him? What was-

"Ow!" His right cheek stung, and Hungary laughed, tucking hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, but the cut needs to be cleaned before it gets infected!" She smiled, like a mother at her child. America just glowered, but held his tongue, biting back anymore cries as she dabbed his cheek with a handkerchief and clean water. He peered past her instead, blue eyes taking in what he had stumbled upon.

It was a clearing, with lanterns hanging all around from the trees. Illuminating the frightening woods, making them look so much safer. There was a band situated to one side, and with a wave from Austria, the music began again. Hungary was saying something next, and America could see other people, some familiar faces within the whispering crowd. But as soon as the music began, they turned away, couples joining together, dancing. And at the very center of the clearing was a crystal jutting out from the center of their dance floor; sparkling in the lantern-light. What the… Had he stumbled upon some ball he hadn't been invited too? What the Hell was going on!?

"-ame?"

"H-Huh?" He turned his head, earning a small admonishing 'tut' from Hungary. Austria was addressing him, his face drawn into a stoic expression, though upon America's utterance, it turned more to a look of exasperation.

"What is your name?" America raised an eyebrow, confused by the turn of events.

"Huh? But… You know who I am…"

"You do look a bit familiar," Hungary conceded, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a frown. "But I don't think we've ever met…"

"Hungary, what are you-"

"Oh right! You must be starving!"

"N-No that's not! I mean!" He stopped, blue eyes wide behind his dirty glasses. "You guys… You don't know who I am?"

They both shook their heads, the women lowering the handkerchief while Austria tugged off his gloves, pressing his hand against America's forehead. "He doesn't appear to have a fever, so he can't be delusional…"

"Maybe he's just mistaken us for someone else?" Hungary, no, not Hungary, responded, turning to smile at America. "My name is Elizaveta Edelstein, this is my husband Roderich."

It took him a moment before his manners kicked in. "Oh, um, I'm America…"

They both looked at him oddly, but said nothing else. He shifted uneasily, part of him wondering if maybe he should've used his human name. Then again, he shouldn't have needed to introduce himself in the first place! He was good friends with Hungary, Elizaveta, and sure he didn't know Austria, Roderich, too well but… But well they knew each other well enough to not have to introduce themselves! Honestly! America was a super power, the hero! Everyone knew who he was! So why… Why didn't they seem to recognize him? He didn't get it!

He cringed again as she continued to clean press the cloth to his cheek, a worried look on her face. "It won't stop bleeding…" She was chewing her lower lip, glancing up at Roderich for a solution. But the man was frowning… Well, to America he was always frowning.

Really, what the Hell was going on!?

"I'll see if someone has-"

"Ah! I was wondering what caused such a commotion!" Blue eyes widened again, America recognizing the voice instantly. He attempted to turn in the direction of the voice, but Elizaveta kept his head still. He did however see Roderich shift closer to his wife, looking towards the voice with apprehension. And mentally that made him snicker. "_Mon Dieu_, what happened to his face?"

"We haven't gotten around to asking him that yet," she bite out tensely, glancing at the man before back at America. "Here, just keep this pressed against your cheek. I'm going to-"

The women released a small squeak as a familiar hand pushed her aside with a chuckle. She bristled all over, and America was sure if it was the Hungary he knew, a frying pan would have appeared from nowhere for her to smack the offender with. But then again, this wasn't the Hungary he knew. No, it was Elizaveta…

"_Dieu! _Were you attacked by a wild beast?" He shifted uneasily, the man taking hold of his face and turning it so he could see the scratches more clearly. America was about to respond to his question, before hissing as warm breath blew against the injured cheek. And then, then those blue eyes became wide as saucers, a small scream escaping him before he could hide it (as heroes _never_ screamed). Hands flew up to push the man away, but his wrists were caught. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing coming quick as he fought down anymore pained cries, his whole body tensing as he tried to keep his head straight. The warm air continued to blow against the cheek, and to him, it felt as if the cuts were stitching themselves back together. And then, after what felt like forever, the pain faded, the man releasing his wrists. Hesitantly America opened his eyes, gazing at the familiar figure of France. But no, no this couldn't be France. Or could it? He wasn't sure any more. This world was so strange, it made his head spin.

"I know it isn't the most painless way, _petit lapin_, but it is affective, _non_?" He just nodded in response, touching his cheek with wide eyes. There was still some dried blood, but the deep gashes were gone. Elizaveta was in front of him again, gently pushing his hand aside and cleaning away the blood. The American could only stare dumbly, glancing at her, before at the Frenchmen. A perplexed expression formed, the man staring at him in pure shock. As if he had seen a ghost. But that look vanished before America could even open his mouth to question it. Instead, an amused smile played across his lips. "Now, what is your name, little party crasher?'

"America…" 'France' hummed and he watched from his peripheral vision as the man strolled to take a seat at the table they were sitting in. He raised his hand again, brushing against his now clean cheek. "How did…"

"Ah, just a bit of old magic," he commented with a playful wink. And had America not experienced it himself, he would've argued that magic did not exist. At least, in his own world it didn't exist. In this Wonderland though… "I am Francis, now, _petit lapin_, how did you stumble upon our little ball?"

"I was just, um running… And I heard the music," all three were observing him, the young Nation shifting uneasily. He removed his glasses, deciding to try and clean them with his dirty shirt. He didn't have much look, and with a small, irritated hum, Roderich took them from him. The American almost protested, but with a cough from Elizaveta, he realized that herself and Francis were still staring at him. He didn't even need to see their faces to know they wanted him to elaborate. "Well… my brother and I were attacked by this guy."

"In these woods?" Roderich questioned, handing his now clean glasses back to him. America nodded.

"Yeah, he wore this mask, and kept laughing. I think he had a few screws loose too. He was the one who scratched up my cheek… He had another guy with him too! Some quiet guy that had on this cloak! My brother and me split up, I lured 'em away from him so he could get away. But they caught me and well… I got away eventually. And then I heard the music from your party… So I followed it." He shrugged, opting to leave out the little 'England' encounter. After all, he himself still didn't understand that.

"A man in a mask?" The women echoed, her hand clasped over her mouth in disbelief. Confused, he nodded again, glancing at the other two. Roderich looked stunned and Francis… His eyes had narrowed sharply.

"Yeah… Why? What's the big deal?"

"_Mein Gott_…" The Austrian murmured, drawing the American's attention back to him. "So that would mean… It could only be _him_?"

Elizaveta nodded, threading her fingers through her brown hair. "I had heard these woods were once the place where the palace once stood. But I didn't…"

"You guys know this guy?"

"_Oui_," Francis murmured, America turning his head now to look at him. He was frowning, gazing at the American intensely. "You and you brother came face to face with Albion."

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Why did that name seem so familiar? Francis cocked his head to one side upon seeing his face, idly swishing the wine in a glass he had picked up. "Do you not know who that is?"

"How could you _not_ know!?" Elizaveta's eyes were wide, her voice incredulous. America just shook his head, bewildered by her reaction. If possible, she looked even more shocked. "How…?"

"America, where do you come from? Which Kingdom?" Roderich questioned, and America could not help making a face at the question.

"I don't come from any kingdom!" He had fought to make sure of that. To make sure his people were never ruled by a king, by a monarchy. He had fought hard for that freedom. "I come from the United States of America!" – He _was_ the United States of America – "I was just at my friend England's house, with my brother and then BAM! I got hit in the back of the head and wound up here! And then I get chased by this crazy psychopath, and then run into all of you, and y'all look just like a buncha people I know from back home! And this whole thing has made me so fuckin' confused!"

All three had grown silent after his outburst, and America found himself shifting with unease. He was about to speak again, to take back what he had said when Francis's hand shot out, grabbing him by the chin. A small squeak escaped him, his face suddenly inches away from the Frenchmen. And the look on his face. America had only seen his old ally look so serious on rare occasions. Even during the wars it was hard to gain such an expression from the man… "You come from the West Kingdom."

"Wh-What!? Weren't you just listenin'!? I don't-"

"If anyone asks you that is what you tell them. Do you understand?"

"No!" He managed to break out of the man's hold, stumbling to his feet and staring at all three. Francis was still gazing at him with that uncharacteristic look of seriousness, while Elizaveta and Roderich shared looks of uncertainty. He didn't understand. He didn't get it! "I don't get it! I don't fuckin' understand! Where the Hell am I!? I-Is this just some crazy dream!? Cause if it is I wanna wake up!"

"What is the name of the world you come from?"

"What?" He stared, perplexed by the question. What did they mean? Weren't they… "Earth… The planets called Earth."

"This world is called Pangaea." Francis murmured, returning to his cup, the look vanishing, being replaced by an impish smile. "How curious…"

"What?" Pangaea? Wasn't that the name people used to refer to the continents all connected? But then how… He sat back down, cradling his head in his hands. "This is just a dream…"

"_Non_, you are not asleep."

"America," Elizaveta soothed, her gentle hand on his back. "America, you don't… You don't come from here?"

"No." How many times did he need to repeat that? Honestly! "I come from the United States of America! I was in England before I ended up in these woods! Ah! I mean, not like! I wasn't, in England the guy I was in his country! Lo- London!"

His face heated up by the stumble, not that any of them would understand (had it been the Hungary and France of his world though, well then he was sure he would've gotten teased immediately). He heard her make a small noise, it sounded like the noise she would make when she would look to Austria for advice. In his world at least. "I-In my world… Your name's Hungary… I mean, you go by the name Elizaveta sometimes but… But generally… This is so weird. Heh, I-I really have to be dreaming! This is a crazy, really fuckin' real dream!"

This time they said nothing. And after a short pause, the women pulled him into a hug. America didn't respond, allowing his head to rest against her shoulder. She was humming again, stroking his hair gently, as if he was a crying child. And normally, he would have pushed away. Flustered and shouting that he was fine, that he wasn't upset or anything and not to worry. Because heroes were always fine.

But he wasn't fine. He was frustrated beyond belief. Confused beyond belief. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to find Canada. He wanted to go _home_. To see England. He wanted to go home…

"Where am I?"

"We call this world Pangaea. You're in the center of the Four Kingdoms."

"Four Kingdoms?"

"Mm, the Kingdoms of the North, West, East and South." His eyebrows scrunched together again.

"How did I…?"

"America… You said a masked man and a cloaked man attacked you?" He nodded, lifting his head to glance at Roderich. The man was frowning, holding his chin in thought. "Albion, he's the self-proclaimed ruler of this world now… The remnant of the Pillar."

"The… The what?" He sat up straight, the term familiar. It sounded like something he had read in one of Japan's mangas.

"The Pillar," Francis echoed, taking another sip of his wine. "The one who keeps balance in this world. Albion is a remnant of that person."

"What does-"

"If he attacked you," Elizaveta murmured, looking at him before Roderich. "Does that mean?"

The man just nodded. America felt even more confused.

"What does _what_ mean!?" Why did they all look so panicked? Well, the couple looked panicked. Francis… There was a dark look on his face, something serious.

"America… You really don't come from any of the Kingdoms..?"

"No!" He snapped, not meaning too, his mind pounding in frustration. "I'm from the US of A! Hell! I _am_ the United States of America!"

"… What do you mean you _are_ the country you hail from?"

"… It's… Complicated. I don't even fully get it…" He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced away silently, trying to figure this crazy world out. "I just wanna find my brother and go home…"

"I had heard," Roderich's voice began. "On these nights, when the moon is blue a gateway to another world is open."

"It was a blue moon when the Pillar vanished," Elizaveta murmured, lowering her voice so much America had to lean forward. "Strange things always seem to happen when the moons this blue…"

"When was the last time it was blue?" He whispered, eyes wide. Had the moon been blue in his world? He tried to remember, but his head ached as a dull reminder of what had occurred. Elizaveta tilted her head to one side, tapping her chin with her finger as she thought.

"I'd say… About seventeen years ago…" Roderich nodded in affirmation, lacing his fingers with her free hand. "And then it's been about… Fifteen years since the Great Rulers vanished."

"The Great Rulers?"

"The ones who once ruled the Four Kingdoms," Francis chirped, finishing his glass. "After the King of the West was killed, and then the Pillar vanished, the other three attempted to keep order. But with the appearance of Albion, they too disappeared."

"Where'd they go?"

"Some believe they went to look for the Pillar," Elizaveta whispered, and America half felt like he was in a group of gossiping girls. Francis hmm-ed in agreement, holding his chin.

"Ah, but Albion claims to be the Pillar. Or at least part of him." The Frenchmen murmured, looking to the dancing couples. "And there is no doubt, he indeed holds the power that the Pillar held."

"He's a fucking monster is what he is!" Elizaveta snapped, Roderich shooting her a small look. She grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "He just shows up out of nowhere, and what's happened to our world since then? Pangaea's been a mess!"

"What exactly is the Pillar?" All three exchanged looks, and he saw Francis reach for another glass of wine.

"You truly are from the other world if you don't know that." Roderich murmured, frowning still. "The Pillar was the one who kept order throughout Pangaea."

"The Pillar was an old system," Francis stated with almost distaste. "One that has failed. It is a part of the old ways now."

"The Pillar kept peace."

"And at the cost of one's own life," the Frenchmen swished his drink. "It was hardly fair…"

"It didn't cost him his life! I mean, the Four Great Kings helped keep the order with him! I mean, the last Pillar, he was a great man. He brought peace to the Four Kingdoms!"

"Elizaveta, how old were you when he vanished?" She stared, almost confused at Francis's question, before flustering.

"If I tell you that, then you'll know my age!" She hmph-ed, looking away pointedly. "That's a very rude question."

"Ah, _je suis désolé. _You are right, that is quite rude of me indeed." He was smiling in amusement, behind the rim of his glass. "I was merely going to state, perhaps you were too young to know just what the life of that man was like."

"No one did," Roderich interjected. "Only the Kings and his advisors. No one else was ever allowed to interact with him, not even those who worked in the palace…"

"Exactly, a life all but cut off from the world. How is that fair?"

"And how old were you?" Elizaveta replied hotly. "You don't look much older than me!"

And here, here the Frenchman laughed. "No, no I suppose I do not."

-

**Okay! This is where the story might become a wee bit confusing… So let me explain. **

**This world that America and Canada have found themselves in, is a parallel world, so to speak. This means they are going to run into QUITE a few people that resemble, both personality wise and appearance wise, the Nations from there world. **

**Now, that being said. This is probably the easiest way to tell the two sides apart.**

**Nation Names = America and Canada's World**

**Human Names = Pangaea.**

**For instance. As you can see, we have met Elizaveta, Roderich and Francis. However, they are not the same as Hungary, Austria and France. As they are not Nations, nor do they know America.**

**Does that make sense? Or was that just even more confusing ;;?**

**Also, I thought it would be best to state this. There **_**will**_** be eventual USUK, somewhat. It's hard to explain?**

**I feel like I had more to say with this chapter, but I can't remember… So I hope you all enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Blue Moon

**Author:** Faeriesnook

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. 

**Rating:** T

**Notes:** This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

**Summary:** They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

-

_"England? England wake up!"_ He groaned, rubbing his head as the faes chirped around him. His fairy friends flying with utmost worry. Slowly, he opened his eyes, wondering why he was lying face down on the floor in his sitting room. The Englishman continued to lay there for another few moments, blinking in an attempt to fix his swirling vision. It felt like all his strength had been sucked from his body. It felt almost like his limbs were made of stone, his head swimming in a never ending hazy. What had he been doing? What had…

Green eyes finally cleared, England catching sight of two slumped figures to his left. America and Canada sat against his bookshelf, heads lent against one another. Almost as if they were sleeping.

But they weren't. His mind supplied, England's breathing suddenly picking up. They weren't sleeping at all. They had been thrown from their world, this world. To the world beyond the blue moon. All because of him. All because…

His heart clenched painfully, green eyes squeezing shut as he recalled what had taken place minutes earlier. Yes, now he remembered…

_"Protect them… Please, please. Protect them. Protect _him_." _

"Is that your wish?" _A soft voice had responded, England nodding earnestly._

_ "Yes… Dammit yes it is!" The other chuckled. "You're the only one who can! And you bloody well know that!"_

"You know what will happen, if I leave, don't you?" _ He nodded, clenching his fists._

_ "I don't care! Protect them! That is my only wish!"_

_ Here, the voice paused. _"As you wish, England."

_ A flash of light was the next thing he saw, before England felt every ounce of his strength vanish; the Nation falling to the side._

Slowly he sat up, gripping his aching head with his hands. And still, the world spun unpleasantly. He brushed the worried cries from his friends aside as they fluttered around him. He turned his head again, gazing at where the brothers laid seemingly asleep. Crawling forward, he reached a hesitant hand out to touch Canada's shoulder, giving it a gentle nudge. The Canadian didn't stir, and neither did the American when England repeated the action (though in a much harsher fashion). His breathing caught in his throat once again, a sob almost breaking through.

This was all his fault.

_ "England?" _There was a hesitant voice. He turned his head, looking at one of the fairies. She was fluttering uneasily, leaving a trail of white dust behind her. _"Are you okay!?"_

"America and Canada haven't woken?" He whispered, glancing at the fairy, already knowing the answer. She shook her head, fluttering down to rest by his shoulder.

_"No. And then you just went distant! Like you were in a trance, and then you just collapsed! We couldn't wake you up no matter what!"_ She murmured, setting foot on his shoulder. _"Are you alright? You didn't… That was really dangerous you know!"_

"I had no other choice…"

_"There's always a choice England! Doing that… You left yourself vulnerable… Your-"_

"_He_ is the only one that can protect them."

_"England, look!"_ Another fairy shouted, stopping the upcoming argument. He turned his head silently. The little fairy was pointing to something between the brothers. A book was resting between them, resting on top of one of each of their hands. Normally, he would not pay it a second glance; after all, they had collapsed right in front of his book shelves, knocking several over. But…

But generally, words did not appear on the pages, as if being written out. With shaking hands he reached out, picking the book up, green eyes wide.

'_Beneath the scarlet mushrooms, the couples danced, intertwining with one another, separating and parting. Blooming like flowers each time they met. The blue-eyed rabbit, dear, lost America, sat at the table, hearing the tales of the past recounted by the sweet couple, Elizaveta and Roderich, and the sly fox. Feeling at ease for the first time since he had arrived in this Wonderland.'_

"This is…"

_"Its what's happening,"_ the fairy finished, her own little eyes wide like England's. _"It's what's happening to America and Canada!"_

Blue-eyed rabbit. America…

Within the blue moonlight England remained where he was, seated in front of the two brothers, reading the words as they appeared.

_'But in this Wonderland, peace can never last very long.'_

-

Pangaea, yes that was the name of the Wonderland that he and his brother had landed in. That was what he had been told anyway, by three very familiar faces, though they were not the people that he knew. No. This would seemed to be full of mirror images to the Nations he knew, and he could not help but wonder if he himself or Canada had other selves here. He also had to wonder what would happen if they met with their doubles. Would the world explode? Or implode? Seriously, this was starting to sound like something pulled out of his movies! Or from one of England's stories about magic. Not that America had believed in magic, not since his days as a colony. Hell, he even teased England for his belief in the mythical world…

He would have to apologize when he got back. After all, magic was the only way to explain just how he and Canada had ended up here…

Was Canada okay? What if the masked man and his companion had turned their attentions on him? If they had followed after his trail after America had given them the slip? No, no! his brother was fine! The American knew it. He would have known if something had happened. He just would have! Unless… Unless…

What if their bond was not the same in this world? What if everything was different? The connection they had shared since before they were America and Canada, when they were just simply brothers. What if that was completely different here in Pangaea. What if…

No. No. No. Why was he even entertaining such a thought!? Their bond was the same! It was silly to even _think_ that it would not be. Their bond was the same. It was strong. It would not change. He would know. He would know if Canada was in trouble. And if that was the case, then America would find him. He would protect him, like always.

They would see each other soon. They would. They would find each other, he just knew it…

How long had it been since they had even woken up in this strange world anyways? America wasn't too sure, despite how much he tried to figure it out. He had tried to check his watch, but it seemed to be broken. It still read 5:24 pm. And he _knew_ he had been sitting at this party for a good hour now. Let alone how long he had been unconscious, or running. More time _had_ to have passed. And the clock didn't even look like it was working! Maybe it was broken? It would explain it. But his watch was pretty sturdy. Maybe it had something to do with this world? That could be it. It seemed plausible at least. At least better than anything else he could think of.

Was it possible that Canada would hear this party as well? That he would come stumbling into the clearing just as America had? It was a slim chance, but it could happen. America secretly prayed that it would.

Shifting in his seat, he watched the waltzing couples, smiling a bit. Even in another world, Austria and Hungary were together. Despite all the hardships they had to endure. He half wondered where the Prussia-look-a-like was, and why he was not crashing their dance and causing a ruckus. But who knows where the ex-Nation's counterpart would be, if he even had one. He leaned back, sipping the glass of wine Francis had given him (once Elizaveta and Roderich had gone to the dance floor, as they had both stated America appeared far too young to drink. Which was irritating, he got that enough back home).

The clearing they were sitting in, Elizaveta had told him, was the site of this dance every year. When America had asked her just _why_ it had to be this clearing, especially when recalling just how dangerous they said these woods were, she had smiled. The clearing was the only, truly safe location within the woods she said. It was a sacred place, protected. The American had been confused by that, but Elizaveta just giggled, pointing to the glowing crystal that was embedded into the ground within the center of the clearing. That was what protected them, she said. And around the embedded crystal, were more crystals of smaller sizes, wrapped around the large one like a ring. That was what protected them as they traveled into the area.

But why here, why every year, he had asked. And again, Elizaveta smiled while answering. It was to remember times gone by. When the Pillar had been one, to mark the day when the Great Wars had ended, when the Pillar had brought peace to the Four Kingdoms, uniting them in a sense. Despite her earlier anger, Elizaveta remarked that it had been a true accomplishment, what the Pillar had done. Ending years, centauries of war, of violence, of bloodshed. And true, that peace had not lasted long. The Pillar had vanished, and with his disappearance their world had returned to its chaos. But, she commented, it was still something to remember, something to celebrate, to wish for, to fight for, even if only a small group of the world still did. Still remembered…

When he had asked them about the Pillar, just who they were, the couple had exchanged a hesitant look. No one really knew. That's what they told him. The Pillar had just always been a part of their world. When the former died, a new Pillar would be born, and taken to the palace, raised away from others to continue the role their predecessor had. But just who they were was unknown. Roderich had even interjected, commenting that no one had ever even seen the Pillars face, except some of this closest advisors (the ones who raised him). When seen by the public, the Pillar would always wear a veil, or a mask, something to conceal their identity. It tied into this whole concept of purity. And even then, no one truly was able to get close to him.

Except the Four Kings, Francis had murmured. They were the only ones to truly know just _who_ the Pillar was. That was what Francis had commented when he cut in. And there was that strangely solemn expression on his face again.

The Pillar had vanished though, and there had not been one born to replace him. At least until Albion appeared. That had stirred so much confusion, throwing their world into even more chaos and disorder. Something had occurred, Francis had murmured, causing the Pillar to split. Two sides of the same coin. But Albion had killed that other side, throwing the balance off.

Yup. This sounded just like one of his movies. Or one of Japan's crazy animes.

"What will you do?" Francis questioned, drawing America out of his thoughts. He turned his head, away from the giant crystal and waltzing couples to look at the lounging Frenchmen. He looked at him for another moment, before shrugging as he returned his gaze to the dancers.

"I'm not sure yet," he answered truthfully. France was always able to tell when he was lying back home, so this version of him probably could too. With another exasperated sigh he rested his chin in his palm. "I gotta find my brother first. Then try and figure out how to get us home…"

"I wish I could assist." He had to smile a bit. Just like France, wanting to help.

"If you find my brother before me, give him a hand. That'd be plenty enough help." He suggested, glancing at the other from the corner of his eye. Francis nodded to the comment, sipping his wine.

"If I find him, I will most certainly aid him." There was a short pause. "You care deeply for your brother, don't you?"

America grinned even more, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah! He's my brother, 'course I care a lot for him! I would risk my own life if that meant he would be safe!"

"Ah, you sound like such a wonderful brother!" The Frenchman laughed, smiling brightly. "You remind me of someone I once knew. He had a brother as well, risked his life to protect him. Well, to protect anyone really."

"Sounds like a real hero," Alfred mused, yawning as he rubbed his eyes. There was another laugh, though this time Francis did not punctuate it by making a comment. The two lapsed into a content silence, the American watching the waltzing couples with suddenly drooping eyes. The clearing was full of such life. It was so safe, so happy. Nothing like the terrifying woods that surrounded them. The music fought away that ominous silence that had hung in the forest as he ran, and the blond could not help but happily hum along with the tune, taking another sip of the wine Francis had given him. For the first time since waking up in this dismal place, he felt at ease. The exhaustion from the day catching up to him, his eyelids drooping. And before America could even comprehend, nothingness had invaded his mind.

"America? Hey, America, wake up." Elizaveta's soft voice was the next thing he was aware off, her hand gently shaking him. Groaning, he cracked his eyes open, only to realize he had fallen asleep in his chair, head resting against the table. Elizaveta was leaning over him slightly, smiling in such a gentle fashion that made him wonder if she was as violent as the Hungary he knew. "Hey, the parties over."

He nodded, not exactly understanding what she meant. His mind felt so sluggish, and his limbs so heavy. Rubbing his eyes with his fist he stood up, nearly toppling over again. A strong arm took hold of his, and it was only after blinking once or twice that he realized it was Elizaveta holding him up. She was looking off to the side, a scowl on his face. "How much did you let him drink while we were dancing?"

"Only a cup," came the velvety French voice, along with a chuckle. "I can't help it that he cannot hold his liquor."

But America could hold his alcohol. At least better than some of the Nations he knew. And he had never gotten drunk off one cup of wine. And besides, this was different from all the other times he had gotten drunk. His mind was so clouded, he could barely take in his surroundings. It felt like he was watching what was going on, watching his own bodies actions, opposed to being in his body. But that wouldn't make sense…

"-ay with us alright?"

He looked back up at Elizaveta, trying to ask her to repeat what she had just said, but his voice failed him. Eyebrows scrunched together as he tried again, but still, no sound escaped him. That was different. That was worrisome.

Elizaveta smiled, seeming to realize he hadn't heard her. "You can stay with us, Roderich and I. And in the morning we can look for your brother. Is that alright?"

He nodded this time, again rubbing his eyes. He felt so childish. Elizaveta just laughed, holding onto his arm as they walked. "Honestly! You're like a big baby! How old are you anyways, America?"

"Elizaveta, perhaps those questions can wait until he is more awake," Roderich suggested, and he could hear a hint of amusement in the man's voice. She nodded a bit, smiling a bit sheepishly and murmuring an apology. America just nodded again.

People were dispersing all around them, picking up the tiny crystals that surrounded the giant one and leaving the clearing, arm and arm with their partners. America looked around, still seeing familiar faces through the haze. Other Nations, or at least Nation look a likes walking with one another, laughing as they retrieved their crystals from the center of the clearing. He watched for a moment longer, before feeling Elizaveta tug his arm.

"This way." She stated, nodding her head in the direction the other men were standing. "Just stay close to Roderich and I."

"Will the crystal be enough to protect all three of you?" Francis tilted his head, observing the three. "I had heard that they only held enough power for two."

Both exchanged silent looks, and then America felt a hand fall on his shoulder. "Allow me to accompany you then, until we leave this dreadful forest. I came by myself, meaning my little crystal here can shelter both myself and the _petite lapin_."

America wasn't sure what happened next. He really wasn't. And that only added to his growing panic. It was almost like he had blacked out. Because one moment they were still in that bright clearing, and the next they were walking through the forest. He was leaning against Francis, stumbling over his own feet, while Elizaveta and Roderich walked a few steps ahead of them arm in arm. The tiny crystals casted a dim light ahead, though to America it barely did anything.

Was it just him, or was his vision getting darker? His knees buckled, but he managed to keep himself from falling over. They were talking about something, but America couldn't register any of their words. His mind was so hazy.

And then something broke through it. A crash. Screams. Francis yanked him backwards, and this time he tumbled to the ground, blinking rapidly before seeing the sight in front of him. A large crater where he had once been standing, smoking in the dim light. Elizaveta and Roderich were on the other side, the women shouting out to them while her husband pulled her away.

"-meet with you!" Francis was shouting back, hauling America back to unsteady feet. "We will meet in town!"

"Be careful, the both of you!"

The next thing his hazed mind registered was that he was stumbling to the ground. And when clouded eyes looked up. And this time he was met with a dark expression on the Frenchmen's face. He felt his stomach plummet.

"So this is the kid Albion had the problem with?" Another voice shouted. It was familiar, so very familiar but… But he couldn't place it. His vision was darkening again as he saw another man approaching them, leaning on Francis's shoulder and staring down at him with sharp eyes. "Doesn't look that tough."

"Ah, but you know those old sayings." Francis's voice responded, and the Frenchmen was suddenly knelt in front of him. "It's a shame though. Who would have thought one glass of wine would have taken out all his fight."

But that was impossible. There was no way a couple glasses would do this to him. There was no way. There was something else. Something… Drugged. He had been drugged.

The panic erupted as America desperately tried to get his sluggish body to move. But it was too late. His body was growing heavier and heavier, consciousness slipping.

A voiceless cry escaped him as Francis pulled him to his feet by the hair. He felt unsteady, gripping the Frenchmen's wrists, glaring at him. The darken look had faded now, replaced by a soft, sorrowful look. But… But that didn't make sense. That didn't fit with the situation they were in…

"Oi, get on with it! Albion's got work for us to do." The familiar voice snapped. And he saw the other blond roll his eyes.

"Patience, _mon ami_, patience." He spoke over his shoulder, before looking at America. And then, a sharp pain shot through him. A coppery taste feeling his mouth. Francis drew him closer, America distantly registering his words as darkness encroached on his vision. The other man released him, America stumbling back on unsteady feet. He held his stomach, pulling away to see blood stain his hand. Swaying he looked at the two in front of him, before falling backwards. Hitting the ground with a dull 'thud'.

"Can't believe the boss had problems with him."The other man was saying, America's vision going dark.

"Indeed… I suppose he was tougher then he appeared." Francis murmured. "We do not know just what his world was like… What it means to be a Nation."

And then, America knew nothing more.

-

**Ah~ Finally finished with this chapter, finally able to post it~**

**Actually, out of all the chapters I have so far this is my least favorite :l There was a lot that needed to be said… And I donno, I just don't like it.**

**Though, let me say, become accustomed to the occasional returns to America and Canada's world! England's going to be reading rather attentively. And there is still the mystery of just how he is involved in all this~**

**Canada returns next chapter~ And some more questions may very well be answered!**

**Right, that's about it. But thank you all so much for all the comments and favs and alert addings and everything! I really appreciate it, I'm so happy people are enjoying this incredibly weird story of mine! So thank you all! I hope I can continue to entertain you all with new chapters!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:**Blue Moon**  
Author:** Faeriesnook

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. **  
Rating:** T

**Notes:** This following story was inspired by the MAD Tsuki no Waltz.

**Summary:** They say when the moon is blue, strange things occur. A gateway to another world opens, linking our world with its own. Now, America and Canada have found themselves pulled into this other world. A world full of strife and chaos, and magic. Filled to the brim with familiar, and yet not familiar, faces. And in the very center of it all, a mystery. One they must find a solution too before they could even dream about returning home.

* * *

Canada skidded to a halt, nearly toppling face first into the dirt. A shaking hand rose, gripping his chest, violet eyes darting in every direction. A sudden panic overtook him, his shoulders heaved as he gulped down air. That feeling, there was no mistaking it…

Dammit! They should have never had split up! Why did he agree to such a stupid plan! Something had happened. He could feel it. America was in trouble. The idiot must have… What if…

No, no Canada was the idiot. He should have never agreed to his brothers' plan. They should have stuck together. Faced whoever it was that was attacking them, together. He shouldn't have let his brother go off and play the hero. He knew it was a bad idea from the start, why had he agreed to it! Now they were separated. Now America was hurt, he could feel it. Something bad had happened.

A sharper pain and Canada doubled over, before falling to his knees. He couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was choking him. The panic swelled to a crescendo, knotting his stomach tighter and tighter. Something was pulling at their bond, their connection. Something was _tearing_ it.

Black dots formed in front of his eyes. Canada braced his free hand against the dirt floor, the other gripping his chest tighter and tighter. He had felt their bond tearing before, but never like this. Never so intensely that he felt like he was dying alongside it. Not even when America had first 'died'; when Canada and he had been too young to understand that Nation's could never die, as long as their populace still believed in them. Not even then had it been so intense. Not even during all the wars they had been through. It had never felt like it was being torn at the seams mercilessly. What did that mean?

A frightening thought made his blood run cold.

Could they die in this world..?

"Da-Damn it… America!" He pushed the pain away, pushing himself back to his feet. He forced away the black dots and forced air down his throat. On unsteady legs he took off down the path that he had come. Heading straight back to where they had parted. He didn't care what America would say. Something had happened. He needed to find his brother before he got into even more trouble. Was America dying? That had to be it. But even still, America had 'died' before, so had Canada. It had never felt like this. That scared him the most. It had always been a sharp jolt, a dull throb. One that let them know, _'he's died, but he'll wake up soon'_. But this feeling...

The Canadian pushed through the sharp pain; it was like daggers now, as he ran. It was like the bond was being exterminated. There was no gentle reminder that America would wake up after this was done. It was painful. It was… It was…

It was gone…

This time, Canada did fall face first into the ground, and the feeling of being choked vanished. His chest heaving as he gulped down air, one hand knotting tighter and tighter into his red sweat shirt. It was gone. The pain was gone. Their bond was…

"America…"

He barely took a minute to rest before he was shoving himself back to his feet, taking off down the path again. For all he knew he could be running straight into a trap. He probably was. But he really could care less. He had to go back, straight back to where those people were, to where America was. He had to find his brother. That idiot…

He was fine, Canada convinced himself, he was fine. He would find his brother lying on the ground, injured but alive. He would wake up, laughing about some idiotic thing, recounting his heroism. And the Canadian would just nod, and keep his comments to himself. Because he would be too relieved that his brother was alive and safe then to tell him about how stupid he had been. Then they would leave the woods, _together_, they would figure out how to get home, _together_. Yes, that's how it would happen. Because America was fine. He was fine!

So why did that feeling of wholeness remain void? The feeling that something had been ripped away from him, leaving a gaping hole in its wake? Why could he feel the tears slipping down his cheeks?

"Stop it Canada, he's fine. Why are you worrying! America's too thick-headed to die!" He murmured to himself, running down the path despite how the stitch in his side was growing. "Pl-Plus we're Nations, eh! We can't die!"

At least in their own world, a soft voice mentioned. He had no idea about this strange new place.

He continued to run. He had too. But nothing was familiar. It really looked like he was just running in place. Even though he knew the trees he was passing were different from the ones yards back, they all looked the same. Each one holding an ominous look, each one large and twisted; each looking like it was looming down on him, all right out of a horror movie.

He gulped.

True, his brother was the one that was more easily frightened. When they were small, he would be the one to cling to Canada's arm in fright during thunder storms. Though, there were times when he would try to be brave. But there was no denying the fact, even now, that America was the scaredy cat out of the two.

But that wasn't to say Canada was also not easily frightened. No, in fact, there were times he was even more likely to be afraid than America. The Canadian was just better at hiding those fears when faced with the need to protect his brother (because America tried too hard to protect him all the time, this whole experience was a testament to that). But now, now that he was alone…

"It's not a movie, not a movie," he whispered under his breath repeatedly. Chanting it as he ran. It wasn't a movie. Nothing was going to pop out and-

A scream and he would profusely deny that it was girlish, escaped him as he collided right into something. Falling backwards his glasses tumbled to the ground, the dark forested Wonderland around him becoming even more distorted. Frantically he searched along the ground, feeling all the more vulnerable. Finding his glasses, he jammed them onto his face, ignoring the smudges of dirt that clouded the lens. He looked at what he had hit, a rock sinking deeper and deeper in his stomach.

It was the cloaked man, the one who had been chasing them. The one who still had his and his brothers' blood smeared on his face. Idly, Canada raised his hand to touch his left cheek, dried blood coating the cut. He was frozen in place, the man staring at him with those dead eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

_You can't stay here_, a voice reminded him. _You have to find Alfred._

That's right. He had to get up, he had to keep moving. With another deep breath, he pushed himself back to his feet, taking a step back in preparations to run. The man in front of him reacted silently, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword, and for a moment, Canada remembered that pained feeling, the hole that was still present, the one that continued to make him worry more and more for that idiot brother of his.

And then he came to a chilling observation.

There was more blood on the man's face… More blood… America's…

Rage began to replace his fear.

Generally speaking, Canada was the calmer of the North American brothers, of the North American Nations in general (as Mexico was often a handful herself). He never acted out, he never screamed. The Canadian took things in stride, and when faced with something that angered him, he took it, counted to ten and tried to rationally figure out a solution. He would calmly confront the person he had the problem with; even if they always thought he was America. Yes, there were many times when he would grow frustrated and yell. America and Cuba were often the ones who were on the other side of those explosions. But that was just yelling. Canada never lashed out physically at another when angered. That was America.

There were only two things in the world that could make him cross that line. That could enrage him so much that he would attack another (at least outside of war, but he couldn't count that).

The first was hockey.

The second, was someone threatening, or hurting, his family.

So, without even registering his actions, he had tackled the man to the ground, surprising the man by the looks of how wide his eyes had grown behind that second layer of concealment. But that was a passing notion, the rage blinding Canada. He punched the man, again and again. Ignoring the jolts that were sent through him each time his bare fist collided with the man's face. It was like static shock really, easily pushed aside. His brother's face flashed through his mind. That insufferable grin he would always wear. It flashed to a pale face, eyes wide, lifeless.

Nations didn't die, they couldn't. At least in their world they couldn't. But they weren't home, they were someplace else, Wonderland that crazed man had said. _His_ Wonderland. He didn't know how this world, this Wonderland, worked; and it made his stomach knot more and more. It made the rage grow.

"What did you do to him!" He screamed, ignoring the fact that if the other man was nearby he was definitely dead meat. The cloaked man said nothing; he just stared up at the Canadian as he continued to strike, again and again. Canada could feel his shoulder's shake, fear growing. "My brother! Wh-What did you-"

Firm hands suddenly reached out, grabbing his wrists. With a surprised yelp, Canada found himself pushed back, before the cloaked man stood, dragging the Nation to his feet as well. With wide violet eyes he tried to pull away, struggling against the still firm hold the man had on him. Finally, he managed to land a decent kick in the man's shins, before kneeing him in the gut. It didn't cause him to release Canada fully, but it did give the Canadian Nation time to break free on his own, stumbling a step or two back. The man seemed to recover quickly, much to his dismay, and was approaching him. Canada was ready though, prepared to fight, despite his instincts telling him to just run.

The man closed the distance in almost a blink, grabbing his wrist again. Canada struggled, trying to pull away, but the man ignored him. He was walking now, dragging the blond down the pathway. Digging his heels into the earth he managed to stop their progress, and he swung his leg again, remembering some of the fighting lessons Prussia had given him. The cloaked man ducked, once again letting go of Canada, and he took it to his advantage, turning and running in the opposite direction. Running as fast as he could.

Only to realize that the man hadn't been pulling him towards where the masked man had been, to where America would be.

He had been dragging Canada back the way he came.

"Wa-wait!" The familiar shout drew him from his thoughts, Canada barely catching himself from falling over for the fifth time when he came to a sudden stop. Frantically he looked around the woods with wide, violet eyes. There was no mistaking it. That had been his brother's voice! It had been him! He had heard him! He was okay!

But the American was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, Canada almost forgot that there was a crazy lunatic chasing after him. The remembrance of that came crashing back however, when he caught sight of the cloaked man approaching him once again. The Nation stepped back, spinning around to run again. But a strong hand had caught his. He grit his teeth, spinning around and punching the man right across the face with his free fist. The cloaked man actually made a noise, yelping as he tumbled back, the mask hitting the floor. Canada barely paid attention, free his hand, taking off again. He nearly stopped again, imagining that he had heard his brother, but he ignored it. America wasn't around. He was imagining things, and imaging things right now would get him killed.

His lungs burned for air as he continued to push forward; his already exhausted legs feeling like Jell-o, ready to give out at any moment. But he surged forward. That man was behind him, chasing him. That man would not hesitate to kill him, or bring him back to that crazed-masked-man.

Though, for all he knew he was heading in that direction. He had lost track of which was which during the scuffle.

He needed to have faith in that now. Faith that his brother, that America, was fine as he ran to escape. He had to believe, despite how much this void gnawed at his stomach, worrying him more and more. If he was going in the direction of his brother, he would find him sooner. If he was going in the direction of his original escape… Well then they would just meet again later on. Just like they had promised! He couldn't turn around again. He had to stick to this direction, he had to-

A sudden figure burst out of the bushes that lined the very poorly cared for path. He just barely avoided running into the figure. Releasing a surprised squeak as he tumbled backwards, landing with a 'thud' and a groan. His heart rammed against his chest erratically. Part of him expected to see the masked man standing there, or the cloaked one having caught up to him somehow. A small part of him even hoped that it would be his brother, having been looking for him.

He hadn't expected to see a lion of all things.

He froze, not sure whether or not to move. A voice in the back of his mind told him to get up and run. But now he was caught. If he turned and ran from the lion, he would only be heading back in the direction of the masked man, or at least he assumed that. He couldn't necessarily just walk around the lion though. What if it was hungry? Did lions eat humans?

Gulping, he shifted, freezing when the lion turned its attention on him.

Violet eyes went wide, any fear he had vanishing when his eyes met with the lions.

"England…?"

The lion said nothing, remaining seated before him. It was larger than any lion he had ever seen before, its mane looking too perfect to be true. And it's eyes. The same shade of green that England had. No, not just the same shade, the same eyes. He stood, any hesitation vanishing as he approached the lion. The lion bowed it's head to him, the Canadian brushing his hand over the soft mane. "I don't… I don't understand…"

_ "I am your England, and yet I am not."_A voice echoed in his mind, and had he been more like his brother, his mouth would have hung open in shock. But Canada was not like America, so instead he just stared, withdrawing his hand from the mane.

"What do you mean?" He received no further answer, the lion taking a step back before kneeling before him. The blond blinked, unsure of what to do exactly. Those familiar eyes gazed at him silently, imploringly. It said all Canada needed to know.

He could not remain in these woods. He needed to run. The lion would help him. The lion that was England and yet not England.

It told him there were going to be several more questions before he found any answers.

With a small ounce of hesitation he climbed onto the lions back, gripping the mane as it rose. It looked back at him briefly, waiting until he nodded. The moment he did, it turned, taking off down a pathway he hadn't even noticed. Leaping over the roots and branches, startling the creatures of the forest as they passed by. Canada held on tighter, his hair whipping around his face as the wind blew against him. At one point, he had to release the mane with his left hands, taking his glasses off before they went flying off his face. The hand soon returned to the mane, clutching the hair and his glasses. Everything around them was a blur, and he had to wonder just where they were going. Where ever they were going though, he knew it was safer from where they had come from.

Maybe the lion had helped America?

They came to a halt, Canada not being able to stop the surprised cry from escaping him as he nearly fell from his seat on the lion. And he swore, if lions could it would be snickering at him. Peeking at the other his eyes met those familiar green, and he nodded quietly, getting off the lion and standing besides it. Quietly he ran his hand over the mane, smiling softly. "Thank you."

He received no response. Not that he had expected anything. Instead, the lion walked around him, nudging him forward. The Canadian stumbled a step or too, glancing back before ahead. His eyes went wide as he was met with the sight of the rising sun. They stood at the edge of the forest, in front of a rolling hillside. Relief melted throughout his body, Canada turning to face the lion. Any further thanks died on his lips however, a hand rising to hold his chest.

"My brother… He's still in there."

_ "He's safe,"_ that same voice, that voice that was undeniably England's albeit a tad gruffer, responded. It made him jump, looking around for the source before his gaze landed on the lion. It's green eyes twinkled in amusement. _"He is safe."_

"But…" The lion gave him a simple nudge again. He shook his head stubbornly. "I felt him die. He hasn't come back yet… Is he…"

_"He will awaken,"_ the voice was soft, and Canada let himself be pushed a step or two forward. _"I swore that I would protect you both. And I shall."  
_"America…"

_"I will return, I will make sure he escapes these woods as well."_ A more forceful push. He stumbled forward, frowning slightly as he let his gaze fall on a path ahead, no doubt where the lion wanted him to go. _"Now hurry."_

"Why are you helping us? Who did you promise?" He turned around, violet eyes wide. "Wh-Who are you?"  
A snap of a twig, and then a harsh push (and he swore, this was from two hands). _"GO!"_

Canada lost his balance, tumbling forward before rolling down the incline. A groan escaped him when he finally came to the bottom of the hill, staring blurrily at the rosy sky. With a small grimace he sat up, setting his glasses on his nose. Fully prepared to turn around and shout back up at the lion. That had been his plan…

The axe that was suddenly firmly placed against his windpipe, however, halted those heated words. He turned his head, _very_ slowly, looking up at the figure that now loomed over him.

Of course, he did not expect to see such a familiar face; a very familiar face that was darkened in anger.

Another question appeared in his mind, sitting on top the pile of questions that had formed throughout this entire experience. But at the moment, Canada felt this question held most importance.

Just what was Spain doing here!

* * *

**Aaaah, feels nice to finally finish this Alas, I am done with pre-written chapters. But at least the story is fully planned out? More or less…**

**Hey guys, this is a heads up. This fic is going to be incredibly long. I'm not going to say HOW long... But uh… Yeah… And some chapters will just be… Long OTL So-sorry… I definitely got carried away with this fic! It has spawned into something completely different then my original plan. So while this **_**was**_** inspired by Tsuki no Waltz… Uh… Well, it'll still have certain moments and aspects from the MAD. But the plot line has just… Taken a life of its own xD;**

**Good news at least, summers started for me so I can work more on future chapters? When I'm not… Working on cosplay that is OTL.**

**Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**


End file.
